


The Devil's Advocates

by Tigresse



Series: The Devil Trilogy [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Charming Devil Incarnate, Deal with a Devil, Jim is the Devil, M/M, Mycroft in Love, Quirky plot, Sherlock in Love, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 15:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Jim is off the hook, thanks to the well-manipulated Holmes brothers!





	The Devil's Advocates

“It’s not really fair that you have to sit on the other side Mr. Holmes.”

Lord Edwin spoke with as less malice as possible, _still_, Mycroft could hear it drip from his voice. Edwin was not the most hostile person on the committee though. It had to be Duncan Wright, member of the House of Commons, a hard-nosed lawyer who had risen to a position of power he could barely comprehend or control. His way of responding to any situation was panic-blame-snap, so that’s what he was doing. He was panicking inside, blaming others and snapping at whoever tried to reason with him.

“I am quite comfortable being the one to explain rather than the one to listen to the explanations,” the Mi5 and Mi6 chief said in his usual, ultra-police, polished manner, “Role reversal sometimes is a good thing.” He didn’t add that he had already seen to it that majority of those sitting on the committee that morning were on his side and hence would influence the overall verdict just the way he wanted it to go. Those steps had been taken in advance and the right people selected to warm the seats. There was of course the elegant and ever dependable Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, retired Judge and part of the Queen’s council Mr. Charles Elgin, Queen’s equerry Ronald Crompton and Gregory Lestrade, assistant commissioner of police, Scotland Yard. Duncan and Edwin wouldn’t stand a chance if the rest banded together.

“Funny you should say that,” Duncan said in a caustic tone, “Since you’ve always had the other Holmes on that seat.”

Mycroft merely offered him a sugary smile which conveyed a subtle message. ‘Shut up and let’s get this over and done with’.

“So you mean to say, there is no James Isaac Moriarty?” Elizabeth started the discussions, tired of the way two men on either side of her were hell bent on causing friction right at the beginning of the council meeting. Everyone had work to do! The sooner this was done, the better for all. Seriously, some people were such colossal wasters of time.

“No,” Mycroft replied, chin in the air, “There’s not.”

“How do you explain his presence then?”

“He was/is a staged character and the whole scheme was worked out like a play on stage. Placed on the criminal’s throne on pain of death by someone who’s managed to remain nameless, faceless and invisible as a phantom. Coercion and blackmail made James commit some crimes, but he wasn’t instrumental for their planning nor was he the mastermind behind them. He was only the outer façade, the front face or ‘symbol’ for the real mastermind, who chose to hide in the shadows.”

“Sounds scary,” Ronald said, “The kind of games these dangerous criminals play.”

“Sounds bullshit to me,” Duncan said with a sneer, “Like a Hollywood script but written by a Scorsese wannabe.”

“Exactly what proof do you have for this?” Lord Edwin asked in a smooth but curt tone. Even though he didn’t seem a believer, he was not as snarky nor as much of a doubting Thomas like his House of Commons counterpart.

“For that I would like to call my brother Sherlock, to co-present with me,” Mycroft said, much to Edwin’s chagrin and the slight discomfort of even Duncan. Both men had not had a very good experience in the past with Sherlock Holmes and were either a bit wary of him or annoyed by him. But then, this was a formal petition of pardon for a man who was otherwise known as a criminal mastermind, the spinner of the world’s most dangerous web, and every bit of evidence had to be submitted, examined and signed off. No witness or advocate could be refused, no proof or evidence was inadmissible. This was different from court cases and its consequences more far-reaching than any other normal trial.

“Of course,” Retired Judge Charles Elgin said quite agreeably, “Please show him in. I am personally most delighted to be in the same room as Sherlock Holmes.”

“Fanboying,” Duncan rolled his eyes and said a bit loudly.

It was a remark in poor taste and Ronald and Elizabeth had almost started to protest when Greg Lestrade, mature and thick-skinned as he was, quickly deflected the topic towards safer matters. “I think we should call Sherlock in. We are doing this on tax payers money and the sooner we are done the sooner we can get back to our core jobs. So Mycroft, I’ll do the honors and call my old friend in. You stay here, really, no need to hassle yourself.”

“Hardly a hassle,” Mycroft smiled in gratitude, “Thanks.”

As Greg exited the room, Mycroft zoned out for a brief while. The word ‘hassle’ reminded him of a discussion he had with his brother and his on-off lover Jim a few nights before. It had started off with a rather ‘expected’ discovery on Mycroft’s part.

***

“You do know sir, that he is not exclusively available to you,” Anthea said as they traveled by car between two destinations one rainy afternoon, driven by herself for a change since Mycroft’s regular chauffeur had a tooth extraction that afternoon.

Mycroft was not exactly happy to hear this but he couldn’t really reprimand her for this either. After all, they had worked together so long she could afford to take some liberties with him and to be fair to her, she took them only when she had something important to say.

“Anthea I am not married to him, nor he to me, and it’s an open relationship,” she decided to cut out the bullshit and grab the bull by its horns, “We do not expect fidelity from each other. I meet him once in three months and spend an extended weekend with him, or we catch up for three or four days at a common destination like Zurich where I have a house and he owns a hotel. What he does in between those catch-ups is his _own personal business_.”

“I didn’t mean the fidelity part sir,” Anthea said, sounding a bit uneasy, “I know you told me not to keep an eye on him, not anymore. But in our line of work you keep hearing things no matter which way you’re looking or _not looking_. I have to tell you this because it kind of seems……important. Sherlock and Jim are trying to leave the country and go into exile mode in either Oman or Singapore.”

Mycroft was silent for a long moment. Knowing his brother and Jim, he had immediately caught on to one thing. If Anthea had heard a random rumor or news, then one could be rest assured that it was fed to her on purpose, because those two devious dudes wanted her to know and eventually wanted him to know. This was a sort of blackmail, a message that clearly called out ‘Either you help or we do it our way’. And this definitely had something to do with the tantrum Sherlock had thrown the other day about how little he saw of Jim because of his overall ‘anti-social’ status and the constant surveillance on him by Mycroft’s men as well as several other intelligence agencies. Mycroft had told him to stop whining and Sherlock had threatened to kill Mycroft’s cat.

“But I don’t have a cat,” Mycroft had to say.

“Then I will gift you one and then kill it,” Sherlock snapped irritably.

“It’s amazing how far you’d go just to spite me.”

“Since you can’t even take a step for your poor kid brother, I have to do some things on my own, isn’t it?”

“Poor kid brother? Wait, James taught you this?”

“Hello-Hello-static-Can’t hear-eee-aaa-ooo……”

“Don’t pretend. And stop making those weird noises. Not very flattering on you.”

Eventually Mycroft decided to drop in on the two men when they were together, so he could have a word with them at the same time and it was not a ‘he said’ and ‘but he also said’ chain of conversation. But again, knowing how those two were, he decided to announce himself before he walked into the 221B Baker Street flat. After walking in on them ‘in the act’ three times earlier, he had no desire to do that for the fourth time.

To his surprise, he found the two men sitting at the kitchen table and drinking tea

“Hello boys!”

“Tea Mike?” Jim said impishly and Mycroft knew something was cooking.

Those two wolves were expecting him and expecting him exactly at that hour. They had even set a cup of steaming tea on the table, a third chair pulled for him. But didn’t he take all measures and pulled out all stops necessary to ensure they wouldn’t really know he was going to visit? Oh well, the curse of handling geniuses in the family! “Yes of course,” Mycroft said, sitting down with all forms of propriety and picking up the cup, pretending to inhale the vapors but actually trying to sniff if the tea was spiked with something or not, “Tea would be lovely. It’s the hour for tea, isn’t it?”

One cup became two and Mycroft, inwardly annoyed by the deafening silence in the kitchen, eventually decided to broach the topic. “I heard about some travel plans you two gentlemen have been making of late. May I know if I can be of some assistance there…..since you so kindly sent me a reminder through my assistant.”   


“Ummmm…..”

“Hmmmm…..”

“I don’t speak drone.”

“People travel when they don’t have comforts at home,” Jim said in a pouty manner.

“But if they do, if they’re treated right, then no one really wants to leave their lair,” Sherlock added.

“This means,” Jim said by means of explanation, “If I am loved in London I can live here. I can be of enormous use to Mi6. And naturally, if I keep the Mi6 boss happy, he will be way more productive at work. On the other hand, if I choose to leave, I take the world’s best detective with me and England loses its national treasure. When a strange threat looms over the city or nation, there won’t be any Sherlock to save the day or do the…..um…..leg work.”

“James,” Mycroft frowned, “That leg work reference was below the belt, okay?”

“Legs are below the belt Mike.”

“Sherlock, I can’t believe you really let him talk you into this.”

“What can I do Mike? I was always the slow one, as you never lost an opportunity to remind me about. While I was processing his request, he gave me a blowjob and my blood went down there, leaving me lightheaded and……”

“Enough,” Mycroft stood up, “I am not going to get involved in a discussion about your sex life and various anatomical dissections around the process of intercourse. I told you guys before and I am telling you again. James cannot be pardoned. It is not possible.”

***

“Of course James can be pardoned,” Mycroft said with the typical emphasis of a man who knew what he was talking about, “I am his guarantor, parole officer, mentor and minder and as such I will be responsible for his actions and future. If there is anything out of place, anything at all, I am the one who will answer for that.”

He gave a sideways glance to his brother who was sitting there like a boy who’d been dragged out of bed and made to attend church. Half asleep, Sherlock was wearing oversized sunglasses which kept half of his face hidden and so damned quiet that Mycroft was near tempted to elbow him and wake him up. True to what he’d expected, he saw his brother nod off, make a snorting sound of waking up and straighten his back again with a snap. “Lockie,” he hissed under his breath, “Don’t sit there looking like a zombie. Say something, put on an expression, at least smile at these people.”

Sherlock flashed a ghastly grin which was straight out of the Insidious franchise, one which people might have seen on one of the demons/spirits roaming on the other side. “No, no, shut your mouth,” he hissed back again, seeing how it made the group shudder and whisper amongst themselves, “This is making you….and me, look worse.” Sherlock promptly shut up and went back to his unusually quiet self all over again while Mycroft bristled with rage inside. Why did they make him call for this meeting if Sherlock had nothing to say and James had no ‘miracle’ move?!

“I am curious,” Lord Edwin said, “Why would you want a pardon when you claim the person concerned is not even the real mastermind? It’s like asking for a collar for a pet that doesn’t exist? You’ve clearly not done your homework.”

At this Sherlock suddenly leaned forward, “Parking tickets, bar brawl, speeding tickets and one indecent public exposure.”

“What?” The committee members, all but Elizabeth, asked together in exasperation.

“I am calling out his crimes,” Sherlock said.

“Wha….?”

“Five parking tickets, two speeding tickets, one bar brawl and one occasion when he was nude in a public pool. That is about all he can be charged with.”

Elizabeth Smallwood knew what was going on and bit back a grin, then converted her chuckle into a cough. Mycroft suppressed his expressions too, keeping it neutral as always even though he could now see the direction this was going in. Sherlock slid a few files at the committee members, looking like a helpless kitten who couldn’t cross the street even if he wanted to. “These are all he has ever been guilty of,” the detective said with a shrug, “You can take a look at his records otherwise. He is an out of work actor, an occasional voice artist, a storyteller, and yes he has been financially dependent on me as he happens to be my non-working partner. I pay all his bills.”

The paperwork was impeccable. Definitely organized by Jim. Mycroft didn’t say a word at all. Just kept watching the proceedings quietly, as if he was totally on Sherlock’s and Jim’s side. Of course he was also occupied with memories from the night before.

***

Mycroft had heard of mythical demonic figures like the incubus and the succubus. Nocturnal creatures who visited virile men and beautiful women and had sex with them while the latter were asleep. There was a scientific explanation behind the dreams and the sleep-paralysis state those sexual encounters usually induced, but human beings were always more drawn towards the supernatural, towards the unexplained. Mycroft was an exception though. He never believed in superstitions, old wives’ tales or mythical stories, at least not until he had woken up to find someone riding his cock and his body racked by shudders of excruciating pleasure.

Jim was gender fluid in bed. He could be dominantly male or a sweetly submissive female in bed, a man who took charge or the needy bottom who could seduce and writhe and turn on the testosterone levels of his lovers. That night, Mycroft had no idea which side he batted on.

Incubus or succubus? Human or some dark creature that had come to claim his soul? Driving this experience or just riding along? An attractive alpha male who took what he wanted or an omega like being who reveled in being taken? Whatever it was, Mycroft found himself buried in the tightest heat he had ever known. As the fog of sleep cleared from his head he realized Jim had inserted a vibrator, a small and sleek one, inside himself. It made things tighter, better for Mycroft. The arousing vibrations against the underside of his erection made him near mad with the urge to cum hard and fill that ass.

Mycroft found himself clutching at the sheets around him and thrusting up, his voice strained as he finally managed to ask the question.

“When….when did you come back to…..London?”

“Does it matter?”

As if to prove his point, Jim bore down harder on Mycroft and clenched his arse, a triumphant laughter leaving him as the veritably quiet elder Holmes let out a rather unmanly cry of pleasure. “H-How did you get in…..?” Mycroft tried to ask again, driven by habit. He knew both Sherlock and Jim were capable of coming and going into any space, no codes or security could really stop them.

“Does it matter….as I said earlier, does it really matter?”

Jim rode him harder thereafter and all the questions, thoughts, fears, confusions flew out of Mycroft’s head. All he was concerned with was this slender beast with its whip-like taut body, this creature who was bouncing on top of him like someone possessed, his shapely silhouette etched against the moonbeams filtering in through the windows, a rather mysterious glow in his eyes, his pearly whites gleaming in the darkness like surf breaking out over the shores. One moment, as a car passed by and its lights flashed through the windows and into the room for a moment, Jim seemed human with his pale flesh and supple limbs, orgasmic expression and long lashes. The next moment, as even the moonbeams faded out with the Heavenly body hiding behind some clouds, he looked like that otherworld being again. Mycroft felt mesmerized by his beauty one moment, and on the very next he was sure he was watching a scene from a psychological thriller, where one was never sure whether the antagonist was really human or demon.

“Fuck James….!!!”

“That’s what you’re doing!”

The answer was followed by some giggling but that sounded so distant. Then it grew louder till he heard it echo and reverberate off the walls of his spacious master bedroom. A bit jittery by then, Mycroft reach out to touch the man on top of him. His breath felt cold, there were puffs of mist coming out of his mouth and nose. But the muscles and skin he touched, were smooth and warm! Again, Mycroft felt confused.

So the tug of war continued in his head till a mammoth climax pounded through his body. He felt a few spurts of warm essence jettison over his chest and shoulder as Jim came along with him, gyrating on top of him like a nocturnal entity that was both marvelous and malevolent.

He must have begun to fall asleep again because he heard Jim’s distant voice, as the Irishman cuddled into his embrace later. When had they been both covered up? He couldn’t remember. Nor did he wish to remember. His head felt so fuzzy but in a good way, he just wanted to nap.

“Get me what I want and you can have these surprises every other night.”

“James I am not sure…..”

“C’mooonnn, you can dooooo it!!!”

When Mycroft woke the next morning Jim and all signs of his presence in the room were gone.

***

“What about the crown jewels? What about the murders that took place through the cabbie? What about the Prison break?”

Duncan’s enthusiastic outrage was met with cool, calm, precise answers from Sherlock. “I know he was forced to make it look like I had employed him to do all those and I was later vindicated, but it turns out that he was driven to do this by a Korean madman. Half Korean and half German really. His details are given on the USB stick each one of you have, with the file you’ve been given.”

“Oh is that so?” Edwin was the one to chip in this time with his pointers, “Okay, even if we accept it was some other mastermind, there are many other instances to quote where the name Moriarty appears. How about the time a priceless Renaissance painting vanished from the Louvre, then one from Rome, and not even a break-in was registered! How about the time sixteen Swiss vaults were raided at the same time and not a trace of whatever’s looted from them were ever found, not even a smidge of a proof discovered anywhere. A hundred and three political assassinations and ‘accidental’ deaths all over Africa, Asia and Latin America, all of which favored the immediate opposition!”

“Foreign affairs, not ours to judge,” Mycroft put on his best judicious expression, now beginning to enjoy this game and realizing why Jim was able to draw Sherlock into this. There was a certain appeal in crossing over to the dark side, making mischief and then standing by and watching like an innocent bystander with the ‘Who? Me!’ look on the face. This was fun, this was intriguing, this was fascinating.

“A criminal abroad pardoned in England? How?” Duncan asked.

“I have to admit, there is some truth behind the accusations,” Elizabeth said, “Unless you guys want to say it was someone else altogether, someone who wore the garb of Moriarty and he exists no more.” She was not someone to follow a certain direction blindly so Mycroft knew this could come. But what encouraged him was the slight hit she dropped about exonerating Jim instead of focusing on Moriarty and his crimes.

_Time to brandish their biggest weapon. _

“It was indeed someone else, actually, two people.”

“Who?”

Sherlock took over, “Majrim and Xingshi.”

“Mr. Holmes,” Ronald asked, “Exactly what are those words supposed to mean?”

“Little known here,” Sherlock said, “Fairly reputed….or should I say, infamous in Middle East and Far East. Warlords who used the Moriarty surname to rise to prominence and terrorize the continents. They made London the capital, because of its unique position in the world. Found a target, James, then spun a web and made him the face of it. Even now, if you go to this address I am giving you, you’ll find them. Just that….they are no longer harmful nor can they speak.”

The gathered group found the story outrageous but for lack of any better conjecture, chose to accept the explanation and order more investigations around it. Lady Elizabeth Smallwood looked at the address and rolled her eyes, “This is a cemetery.”

Mycroft had to use all his strength to ‘not’ smile. Between Jim’s ability to get anything done and Sherlock’s expertise in talking out of anything, the gathered panel members stood no chance at all. “Pardon me ma’am, but we didn’t think it would be prudent to leave such dangerous folks unleashed on society or even caged in a confined space. However, it wasn’t us who did the deed. Knowing the delicate nature of this business, we merely influenced their death and didn’t commit murder with our hands. Such people always have enemies, ones who are merely waiting to draw their swords out. Call it a fortunate compromise. We have nailed the masterminds, the real ones. It is up to you now to not nail an innocent man on the cross. The last time someone did that to somebody, you know what followed thereafter.”

***

“So I am free?”

Sherlock enjoyed the massage he was being given. “Exonerated, pardoned. Idiots didn’t even realize that the names I had given to them were modified versions of the Arab and Chinese words for ‘criminal’. But it was a darn good idea to have two recently dead men with no DNA or any other such records anywhere, to be buried in unmarked graves. Made them buy the story that they were trying to put everything on you and walk out the door as free men.”

“But how did they cross me off their list and give me the gift of working with Mi6 while also conducting private business on the side?” Jim asked, tapping the back of Sherlock’s legs to make him part them wider, “When you guys established the fact that I was not involved in perpetrating the crimes but was more of a victim of circumstances, they should have just set me free and cleared my name of all charges.”

“Oh Jimmy, you’re getting softer….owww!”

Jim looked at his handprint on Sherlock’s bum. It had turned red. “Does this feel soft to you?” He started to grind himself against Sherlock’s tailbone, knowing fully well how much that turned the detective on.

“Nope, hard as a battering ram…..owwww…..what was this one for?”

“For not telling me enough about how hard, hot or handsome I am. When was the last time you told me so?”

Sherlock pretended to think, crooked smile on his lips. “Lemme see……errr……about an hour ago perhaps? That is way too…..long. Don’t forgive me the next time I make such a terrible, awful mistake.”

“Okay then let’s see where we stand,” Jim snickered as he gave Sherlock’s back, shoulders and arms a sound massage, rubbing his oil slick erection on the back of the man’s thighs, “I am no longer even a suspect. I have been absolved of all charges, suspicions and hunches on anything illegitimate or anything to do with malpractice. I am now no longer to be called James Moriarty but James Brook. I get to keep my money, most of my assets, I also get to keep you and I can occasionally enjoy the company and bed of your elder brother as well. Sounds like a win-win to me Sherly!”

“Your name,” Sherlock said, “That was the only thing I wasn’t happy about. I mean, to me you’re James Moriarty. It’s hard to imagine _otherwise_.”

“Haven’t you heard ‘a rose in any other name would smell just as sweet’?” Jim asked.

“Oh yes, that too.”

“Besides, the Devil, by any other name, would be just as dangerous and deceptive.”

Sherlock laughed a bit nervously, “You’re not the Devil Jimmy. You’re my partner. A brilliant man and someone with a bit of a sinister side. But you’re _definitely not the Devil._ Though I have to admit this morning Mycroft and I played the Devil’s advocates and enjoyed it tremendously.” He waited for a long moment and turned his head when the prolonged silence from Jim became a bit too much. “Jimmy….?”

“Right here,” Jim re-entered the room. _When did he even leave?_ Sherlock frowned, “Where had you gone off to?” No, he _surely_ didn’t hear Jim leave. It felt as if only half a second ago Jim had been sitting on his butt and digging his knuckles into his spine.

In an easy voice Jim responded, showing the item in his hands, “Hot towel. To get the oil off and get you call cleaned up and fresh.”

“Ah…..”

“Then some nice, long loving? Now stop wriggling and trying to look at me. The more you cooperate, the sooner we can get to the best part of the massage. The happy ending!”

Sherlock shuddered in response, arousal building, and quickly lay his head back down on his forearms. Jim’s smoky green eyes, forked tail and horns receded slowly and he assumed his human form again. With a slight roll of his shoulders he resumed his ministrations on Sherlock Holmes, a sneaky grin on his full lips.

_There was nothing more satisfying in getting two people on the side of the angels to act as the devil’s advocates, was there?_

**Author's Note:**

> Here ends the devil's trilogy! Thanks for reading. This plot is meant to have some questions unanswered, some quirky hints, a bit of a vague line here and there; because I'd like to let you guys take a guess and come to your own conclusions! Cheers!


End file.
